"Guy Talk", PG
As they both glided down the streets of London, weaving through pedestrians as Sherlock. It was a scantily dressed woman which captured John Watson’s attention, a plunging neckline which drew his eye shamefully downward and he was trapped for a moment.
It didn’t go unnoticed, of course. Sherlock followed John’s line of sight before tracking it back to the doctor. Unable to contain himself, Sherlock smacked John deftly with the back of his hand, startling him, “What?” John jumped, eyes wide and alert. Sherlock rarely showed displeasure with a physical strike, was always one of casting a disapproving or judgmental glare.
So it was with all senses of confusion that he asked, “What was that for?”
Sherlock threw him a look that could only be construed as a mark on his intelligence.
John stood by his confusion.
Sherlock sighed.
“I don’t understand the appeal.” Sherlock began with a casual air, “I mean, breasts. Why be attracted to something biologically necessary for feeding newborns?”
Well, _that_ had certainly come out of nowhere and John raised his brow in surprise. Firstly, that was the most disagreeable mental image for breasts he had heard for quite some time and secondly, Sherlock rarely ever engaged in such primordial (at least by his standards) conversation.
This was perhaps the closest Sherlock had ever come to ‘guy talk’ and he was certain that this was his first time hearing the word ‘breasts’ uttered from the man. John had every intention of making it worth his time - but Sherlock had an uncanny ability of making any expert sound like a novice.
In short, he should have known better than to engage him.
It was quite a different take on what he was used to. Size, shape, buoyancy - these were the roads most often taken when considering the aptitude of a woman’s assets. No, it shouldn’t have struck him as unusual that he was being made to justify just what it was that made breasts…well, appealing.
“Well… you know.” John started, stealing a sideward glance at the consulting detective, who, judging by his expression, was taking his words to be anything but comprehensive. “They’re nice.” John added in a desperate attempt at description under a scrutinous gaze.
“Nice?” Sherlock questioned incredulously. It wasn’t that he had expected much from John Watson, but he had expected a little more than ‘nice’. “Breasts are the main focus in the majority of sexual practices and have become an obsession in a society to the point where the simplest of items cannot be sold without a woman’s cleavage blatantly displayed.
They were certainly enough to hold your attention. So, I ask for insight and your reasoning behind this common phenomenon is because they’re nice?”
John, as flustered as he was indignant, scowled (in an attempt to feign composure, he figured but it wasn’t working). “That’s exactly what it is, Sherlock. A phenomenon. You’re asking me to explain an indoctrinated sexual impulse.”
“I’m still waiting for an explanation.” Sherlock quipped, rousing irritation from the medical man.
As such, it appeared as if John was disapproving of his questions, but it went unacknowledged. And the silence was more than enough to get him to carry on.
“They’re sort of…” John struggled, but didn’t realise how he had positioned his hands until he saw Sherlock staring, a gentle grimace of distaste and incomprehension shadowed across his expression.
There he was with both his hands cupped over imaginary breasts. Embarrassed, he quickly put his hands back by his sides with an uncertain breathy chuckle.
Sherlock continued to watch him intently.
This was going to take awhile.